Heroes and Demons
by Stenciled Scialytic
Summary: Half-demon Cello Corvino wants nothing more than to settle down and recuperate after an adventure in Italy that left her branded as a "limbo soul." But SHIELD and half of the immortal population have other plans. Really, if Cello wanted peace, she probably shouldn't have moved to the demon hotspot of the century: NYC.
1. From There to Here

**Okay, so I just edited this chapter. I got a review (my first one! squeals. Thanks, HermioneJMalfoy!) that pointed out some confusion. It was recommended that I post the prequel to this, but I don't think I can-it's not a fanfic. So, instead, I tried to clarify some of the backstory in this chapter. I hope it helps!**

**Other than that, not much has changed.**

**Enjoy!**

From There to Here

_"I stopped fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side, now."_

~Darynda Jones, _Second Grave on the Right_

_Cobbled city streets clogged with swarming masses of people lay sprawled and smoldering under the Italian sun. The scent of sweat hung in the thick, summer air, pungent and mixed with the acrid tang of fear. Underneath the sharp odor, the sticky flavor of blood thickened on the breeze. Cello stood rooted to the middle of a bridge over one of Venice's famous canals. She stared about in confusion. How did these people not notice?_

_The bridge was lined with stalls selling bits of overpriced food, decorative scarves, and various other touristy knick-knacks. The kaleidoscope of colors was nauseating, and Cello felt her stomach heave in time with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The air in her lungs was putrid—she could feel the malice stick in her throat, bitter and sharp like an orange seed. Her gaze leapt frantically from one vibrant stall to another, landed on face after sweaty face. The edges of the bridge began to blur and Cello was surrounded by human figures with demonic faces, warped and twisted and discolored. Pointy teeth and horns and bat-like wings flared…Cello wanted to scream at the rising pressure behind her eyes. _

_Suddenly one figure seemed to wade through the sea of shapes and colors to stand before her. He stood on the wrong side of the sun—a mere silhouette—and Cello squinted into the glare. She tried to take a step forward, but found her feet stuck to the cobbles. She looked down in desperation and couldn't see past the sticky purple substance at her waist. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew what it was, and her heart gave a furious twist before she pushed a memory away and looked back up at the figure. _

_"Nicolas," she heard herself whisper, though she still couldn't see the figure's face. From the dark shade of the silhouette, a blinding white smile flashed pointed teeth. Ghostly light illuminated the green-tinged face of her friend. She felt something dangerously akin to hope flare in her breast, and tried again to step forward. She made little progress before sloshing to her knees in the purple mess. "Nicolas," she breathed again. Her brow furrowed. "I thought…I thought Andras killed you…" she muttered. She saw his grin fade, saw the chocolate brown eyes flood with pain. The hand he had reached toward her fell to his side, and he took a slow step backward. _

_Suddenly the heavy pressure of a clawed hand settled on her shoulder. Cello trembled with the effort to turn around, but remained glued to the spot. A tendril of dark hair brushed her neck and she shuddered._

_"What color is your blood these days, little crow?" Cello felt her entire body go rigid, rocked immeasurably by a single heartbeat. The smooth tenor was breathed into her ear while simultaneously floating over from the Shade's mouth. Cello found her gaze glued to the silhouette in horror. It began to twist, turn in on itself and crumple to the ground. She heard the sickening crunch and wet snap of limbs as they tangled with one another. The figure melted into a ball of broken bones and knotted tendons. Cello's gaze zeroed in on his face, hard as she tried to avert her eyes. It was the closest reflection she could picture of pure agony. She heard a scream in the distance—wondered whose it was. The momentary disturbance in the otherwise silent scene allowed Cello to break free of her invisible binds. She glanced around as she rose to her feet—the bustling streets were frozen, a wax model of Venetian summer. She kept her gaze away from the mound of silhouette as she turned, walked over to the bridge wall to peer over into the murky water._

_Andras' face hovered over her own reflection, and when Cello reached to touch her shoulder where his hand had rested, she glimpsed her own claws in the water._

Cello's eyes snapped open so fast she thought she might have lost her eyelids. She stared for a moment at the saffron gloom of the ceiling as she tried to get her bearings, heard the hiss of her own breath as it slowed from its hyperventilate pace. Slowly, her gaze drifted to the window on her right, dimly registered the sharp rays of sun filtering over the looming height of the neighboring building, traveled over to the nightstand and down to the floor. She was met by twin chips of silver. Argent sat perched with his paws on her bed, whiskers a-twitch with disapproval. Slowly, still caught in the throes of her dream, Cello sat up. She scrubbed one hand across her face, pushed back the unruly feathers of her hair.

"Guess my hour's up, huh?" she mumbled humorlessly to Argent. She hadn't been a "limbo soul" for more than a fortnight, and already she hated the internal alarm clock that flared after an hour of sleep—no more, no less. The cat-shaped demon—or _Bajang_— huffed once, hopped the rest of the way onto the bed to sit beside her.

_"I will never understand how you manage to thrash so in your sleep,"_ the demon complained. "_It is most unsettling to watch." _Cello chuckled drily.

"I've told you before, Argent—they're called _nightmares_." Cello didn't know why she continued to explain the recurring terrors to her feline companion—it seemed that demons were unable to dream. The charcoal-gray beast shot her a scathing glare.

_"And I've told _you_ before that my name is _Mephistopheles," he hissed peevishly. "_Not _Argent." Cello pointedly threw her covers off and swung her legs out of bed, dislodging Argent from his perch with a disgruntled chirrup.

"Oh, come on. Don't demons have nicknames? I mean seriously—it suits you perfectly. And you know I can't pronounce _Mephistopheles_ properly."

"_You just did,"_ the little demon growled, tail lashing. Ignoring him, Cello stood and walked across the room to a small set of drawers stuffed into the far corner of her apartment. She heard a soft thump as Argent hopped down from the bed, walked over to sit pointedly at her feet. She ignored him and stared into the mirror above the dresser. The paleness of her skin accented the deep, purple circles under her dark eyes. Her hair, short and fluffy, stuck up in black feathers all over her head—a constant reminder of black-feathered wings. She glared at her reflection—she just couldn't get used to the lack of…humanness.

_"At least you won't actually sprout wings," _Argent said from her feet, as though he'd read her mind. _"So your skin tone changes a bit and your blemishes fade—I thought females were happy about such things." _Cello snorted in a weak attempt to hide her discomfort.

"Oh yeah—it's fabulous. Right up there with the hour limitation on sleep and the sensitivity to light," she complained. She looked back to her reflection. It was hard to believe the pale-faced girl in the mirror was the same Cello Corvino from the previous summer—who'd lost her family to a chaos demon and been thrown into a world of demons and angels she hadn't known existed. _I battled demons, went to Hell and back, found out I was half demon and subsequently lost the human half of my soul,_ she thought numbly, touching her fingertips to one cheek. _I'm actually surprised I still look this human…_

With a quick shake of her head to dislodge the memories, Cello forced her gaze away from the mirror and pulled a clean black tank top from a drawer.

_"I should have known better than to expect a half-demon like yourself to appreciate the dignity in my name,_" Argent sniffed, tactfully changing the subject. "_You're too far removed from the culture." _He leapt to perch atop the dresser as Cello yanked on a pair of dark grey skinny jeans. She rolled her eyes and walked back to the bed to pull on a pair of socks.

"I'm a limbo soul," She mumbled quietly. "I'm the part of the _culture _that demon's warn their little demon babies about. 'Don't talk to strangers or make bargains with Black Mages or you'll end up a limbo soul,'" she mocked half-heartedly.

"_You might be surprised by the respect toward limbo souls in the demon community. After all, you have no ties to demon or angel parties—not even to Earth. You're not a demon, certainly not an angel…not even a human. There is a certain freedom—a power—to be found in that…" _Argent regarded her thoughtfully from across the room for a moment before casually licking a paw. "_By the way, you're going to be late if you don't leave in about…ten minutes." _He declared. Cello paused mid-sock to stare up at him suspiciously.

"Late for what, exactly?"

"_You have a job interview at eight this morning." _

"Oh, really?" Cello drawled as she padded over to her little kitchenette. She pulled open the fridge and began digging as Argent relocated to the counter top. "And what, exactly, is this job interview you've set me up with?" Her voice echoed dully off of the frosted walls of the fridge.

"_A bookstore close by_," the Bajang answered simply. Cello withdrew holding a cup of yogurt in one hand, leveled Argent with a disbelieving stare, one eyebrow quirked.

"You signed me up to work in a bookstore?" she had not even bothered to question how Argent—a cat, for all intents and purposes—had managed to score her a job interview, at all. She knew the little demon had his ways, and had learned over the duration of their adventures in Italy that he was not one to be questioned.

"_It's run by a…friend. And there are some very interesting materials available there."_ He offered the feline equivalent of a shrug. "_I dropped by while you were thrashing about. It's a good place to keep in touch with—better if you can make money through it."_ Cello nodded thoughtfully as she peeled back the lid of the yogurt and ate a spoonful.

"Well, then," she said around her mouthful, "I'd better head out." She stuck the spoon in her mouth as she doubled over to pull on her thick, black combat boots, then stood, swiped her yogurt from the counter, and headed for the door. She wrenched it open, growled softly at the catch that didn't quite fit properly, and yanked her army jacket down from its hook by the door. She was about to pull the door closed, but paused to look back at Argent, who hadn't moved from the counter. Throughout the morning, she had felt the tingling pressure of clairvoyant awareness behind her eyes. It had taken her a moment to recognize that it was coming from Argent. She narrowed her eyes, glanced inward. Her head was full of pathways into the future, as it had been since before she could remember. They glowed like streams of golden sand in the dark. As she watched, they twisted, reformed, and a few disappeared altogether. _He's going to do something,_ she thought. _Something that changes things. He might have already done it—perhaps this very morning…_ "What are you up to, today?" she asked probingly.

"_The usual," _Argent replied flippantly. "_I'll be around." _Cello nodded slowly. She knew what that answer meant—the clandestine creature was definitely up to something, and he would not tell her what it was until he was ready. Cello sighed and pulled the door after her, adding a sharp tug to force the catch into place. Her keys jingled in her pocket as she jogged down the winding, tiled stairs of the apartment complex. She knew better than to question her companion—she would find out his schemes soon enough.

**Okay-was that less confusing? (for new readers, let me know if you're confused.) If it helps, I intend to write a sort of prologue, soon-probably a first person POV from Mephistopheles/Argent that explains some things about the demon world and Cello's adventures. Also be warned: I will be editing the following chapters, as well. I found some discrepancies and minor problems during a read-through. (plus, the story keeps changing on me, so I have to go back and make sure everything fits.) Hope you stick with me!**

**Reviewers win Argent! (though I'll warn you-his bark is about even with his bite.) **

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	2. Pandemonium Cafe

**Okay, so here's the second chapter: newly edited! I didn't change much-just a few little things here and there. I will probably perform little routine scans of the chapters fairly frequently; after all, it always helps to give a piece some space, then go over it again. I hope to be ever improving this piece as I go along! Anyway, hope you like it. I know this chapter's still a little short-they'll start getting longer with the next installment, for those who care about length. (I tend to just stop when the chapter feels over.) Anyway, sorry in advance: more OCs coming up. But Avengers soon, I promise!**

**Enjoy!**

The Pandemonium Cafe

"_Go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company."_

~Mark Twain

The city of New York was shockingly different from anywhere Cello had gone in Italy. She found that she already missed the caramel stonework of Florence; the open public squares and the cobbled streets. New York was familiar enough from a bird's eye view—she remembered thinking so on the plane ride over. The city was much like all cities: a tangle of streets curved around vast, protruding buildings. Certainly Florence had been much the same in that regard. But here, the buildings were glassy, thorn skyscrapers, windows full of cubicles and towering grids of metal; a stark contrast to the ancient stonework of Italy.

Cello's eyes fought to adjust to the gleam that seemed to catch on the sharp gray corners of this new world. With a sigh, she paused at a street crossing and waited for the sign to blink to walk. It was certainly bizarre to jump into such a sharp world—all black and white and silver—from the colorful mesh of Italy.

Cello looked down at the little scrap of paper in her hand as she moved with the masses across the street. It seemed Argent had slipped it into the pocket of her jacket before she'd snatched it off the hook; on it were a few written instructions and the nearly indistinguishable scribbles of a map. She stared at it for a moment, baffled, as she allowed the human mob to sweep her along.

_He does know I have no idea which streets are which, right? _She thought wryly as she tried to make sense of the little scrambled lines. None of the streets were marked, and the map seemed to start from the door of her apartment. _A little late for that, I think_. She glanced up, stood on her toes to peer above the sea of heads in all directions, and found that she had no idea where she was. She reached into the back of her mind to grasp at the cache of information she always kept there…and found nothing. She sighed. _I should have known-inherent knowledge can only be built over time. I suppose it _wouldn't _work on a brand new place__,_ she conceded. Still, it was annoying to say the least—Cello was not used to her internal database failing her.

The burn of irritation settled low in her throat, rather like heartburn, as she worked her way through the crowd to go stand against the wall of the nearest towering monstrosity. She glared down at the little scrap of paper. Somehow Argent had tucked a little note into the corner, scrawled in his ridiculous demon script. She rolled her eyes, turned the paper to read it. _Don't be alarmed when he approaches you,_ the note read. _He has something important to give you._

Cello narrowed her eyes, unsurprised at the message's cryptic nature. It was Argent, after all. This "he" was undoubtedly a demon of some kind...most likely the friend Argent mentioned that morning. What this mysterious "gift" was, Cello couldn't fathom. He was a bookkeeper—maybe he had a book to give her. At the thought, Cello felt a spark in the back of her mind. So, the book idea was correct…but the spark was dull. She narrowed her eyes; there was more to it. Finally she shrugged her shoulders, conceded to allow the future its own course, and looked back down to the paper.

Cello was so engrossed in trying to make sense of the almost-map that she didn't notice the guy staring at her until a prickle of awareness shot over her skin like an electric shock. She jerked her head up and stared through the throng of humans. Her eyes found him almost instantly, drawn as they were to other demons. He stood nonchalantly in the middle of the road—to human eyes, a middle-aged man with dark aviator sunglasses and an eagle-headed cane. Cello saw the red-purple sheen of his skin and the pointed, elongated ears that protruded from under his salt and pepper hair. A black tail like a whip curved up behind him, every once in a while lashed furiously before returning to its upturned position. _Demon…_

She froze, eyeing him suspiciously. Should she approach him? Leave him alone? Was he the demon she was expecting...or someone else? Before she could make up her mind, the demon began striding toward her with long, steady steps. Unsurprisingly, it seemed the cane was only there for show.

"Hello," Cello greeted frostily when he had reached her through the steady human stream. He nodded to her.

"Are you miss Corvino?" he asked. His voice was thickened by a heavy British accent. Cello paused for a moment, her shoulders tense against the cool marble of the building behind her, and let the English sink in. Perhaps one of the most convenient perks of demon blood: she had an automatic translator in her head.

"I am," she said at last, in English. "And you are...?" He chuckled. The sound was surprisingly light, for a demon.

"My name is of little importance, at the moment. I am the Bookkeeper." His smile was unsettling in a quiet sort of way. It didn't help that Cello couldn't see his eyes beneath the dark lenses. "Suffice it to say, we have a mutual, rather feline friend." Cello loosened a bit, soothed by the humor in his voice. So he _was _Argent's friend, after all...

"I see. Word has it you have something for me." At her words the demon went slightly rigid. He clicked his cane lightly against the sidewalk, leaned close to whisper in her ear.

"Not here, my dear," he hissed. "You have much to learn of the _population_ in this city. Walls always have ears, and this particular matter is one to be closely guarded." Cello nodded slowly as he withdrew. She felt the heat of his gaze meet hers from behind the aviators, and suddenly a thrill of fear raced up her spine. _He's a powerful one…_

"Well then," she sounded overly chipper as she attempted to hide her discomfort. "Lead the way to this…bookstore." The demon nodded and the quiet smile was back. Cello shuddered before following him through the crowd. She wasn't sure she trusted this demon, friend of Argent's or not. He gave her an unsettling buzz, tucked into a corner of her mind. And Cello had long since learned to trust her mind, first and foremost. Still, Argent had told her to see him, and despite his grumpiness, Cello did trust the stony creature. She decided to accompany this new demon for now, and make judgments later.

It turned out that Cello had ended up just around the corner from the bookstore. It was a quaint little place—a green, wooden door set in the old red brickwork of the market district. She paused outside for a long moment, heart rate just slightly accelerated. There was something thick about the atmosphere...a tension that had been building the closer they got to the place. Now that Cello stood right at the base of the shallow, concrete steps, she could practically feel the pressure tingle against her skin. She shrugged it off, scanned the front of the building. Her eyes traveled up to a little gold plaque on the door, which read "The Pandemonium Café". Cello quirked an eyebrow at the name as her mysterious guide pushed the door open with a light _ding_.

"Appropriate name, but I thought this place was a bookstore," she commented as she followed him up the shallow steps into the Café.

"It is," he responded without turning around. "Does that mean it can't _also_ be a café?" Cello didn't bother to answer (she suspected the place was more than either title suggested), instead turned to survey the new scenery. The space was larger than it had appeared from the outside. Black and white tiles gridded the floor, endowing it with the odd illusion of movement. Old wooden booths lined the walls, and equally worn wooden tables speckled the center of the room, occupants veiled by the overhanging gloom. In the back right corner, a counter curved out from the back wall, stopped just short of the perpendicular side wall. Behind the counter was a mess of shelves, blenders, coffee makers, and a door built into the corner. Cello supposed it lead down a set of stairs to a supply room. The entire space smelled enticingly of roasting coffee and cinnamon. Cello found herself instantly relaxed.

"_Stop gawking and walk," _Cello reacted to the familiar voice instantly, looked down to find the irritated feline staring up from near her feet.

"Argent? What are you doing here?" She didn't even bother asking how he'd arrived before her. The Bajang's ears twitched back at the sound of his loathsome nickname, but he didn't comment. He merely walked, tail high, toward a door at the back of the room, just to the left of the drink counter.

"_I told you, didn't I," _his voice drifted back, _"That I'd be around? Now keep up—Bifrons is waiting."_ Cello followed with a snort. Bifrons? What was with these demons and their weird names? As she walked, Cello peered through the shadows at the figures sitting in booths and at tables. She did a double take, shock coiling like ice in her stomach. The room was lined with red, purple and green faces; horns and barbed tails peeked from behind booths, and a man sitting at a round table in the middle of the room stirred his coffee with a four-jointed claw. Cello swallowed convulsively. As she'd suspected, this was certainly no ordinary bookstore café—it was chock full of demons!

**Okay, so that's that. Hope it was just a tad clearer in terms of demons and stuff-this chapter was pretty straightforward, I think, so there shouldn't be too many issues...regardless, if something's givin' you trouble, let me know about it: I'll straighten' 'em out 'n have 'em beggin' fer mercy in no time! Haha...clears throat...Anyway, stay tuned! **


	3. One After Another

**Okay, so I've just edited this chapter, and there's something important returning readers (and newbies) should know: I've moved the story, time-wise, to after the Avengers movie. That means Agent Coulson is dead. Originally, I had him in this fic, but it simply doesn't work with the time frame. So, I've introduced Agent Samuel Cooper, instead-he'd Coulson's replacement in SHIELD (as you will find out later.) Hope you all aren't too disappointed...if you really want Coulson back, I can work it in...but it'll be rather awkward. Let me know.**

**Hope you enjoy it, anyway!**

One After Another

"_People are secretive when they have secrets."_  
~Deb Caletti, _The Secret Life of Prince Charming_

A green-skinned girl with ram's horns stared Cello down over the rim of her large coffee mug. From the other side of the room, a tall, purple-scaled man quirked one spiked eyebrow-ridge at her. Both were thinking the same thing: who is she, and what is wrong with her?

Cello stood stock still, body rigid as a two by four, gaze glued to the bulging, checkerboard floor. Her mind was reeling—when she'd followed Bifrons into the bookstore café, the last thing she'd expected to find was a room full of demons. Her brows knitted together as she chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought. _The problem isn't the demons, themselves, _she told herself—though the sheer number of them was certainly unsettling. Naturally aloof and slightly confrontational, most demons kept to the shadows of human society, and away from one another. While she suspected there was a large demon population in a city like New York, Cello couldn't fathom more than three at a time-even in Venice, a demonic hotspot in its own right, she'd never heard of more than that. Yet here was a room stuffed with over ten of them, with no humans to mix it up.

_The problem is that I didn't even notice!_ Normally, she'd have picked up on the overpowering aura a block away-smelled it, even! Curious, Cello closed her eyes and opened her senses. She let her awareness slip out, stretch to the far corners of the room. She smelled the thick scent of coffee and cinnamon, the musty flavor of old books wafted from the room behind the café. She could even smell Argent's icy aroma lingering overtop of the heady mixture. But no demons.

She pushed harder, mentally wading through the other stimuli in the room, until she felt something push back. Her eyes snapped open in surprise: there was a dampener! Once she noticed it, she could feel the heavy spell pressing in on her, muffling her aura, and concealing those of the other beings in the room. It was a strong one—thick and potent, laced with several blocking charms. So _that's _what she felt approaching the café..._What is this place? _She wondered in awe. No average café would have a dampening agent over it, let alone one this strong. Whoever placed this was powerful—the effects extended several blocks beyond the actual café, if she remembered correctly. By the time anyone was close enough to pick up on the cluster of demons, the spell would have distorted the signature. No wonder she hadn't noticed anything.

"Are you alright?" A deep, slightly purring voice drew Cello's gaze slowly away from the floor. Her eyes traveled up, past a dark grey, elegant suit, to a face that towered at least a head above her own. Though blue-tinged, the face's structure was fairly human: sculpted features, a strong jaw and straight nose, deep-set amber eyes, all framed by a wild mane of red hair. She frowned at him briefly.

"Yes—I'm fine," she said at last. "I just wasn't quite expecting this…atmosphere." She gestured vaguely to the café. The demon smiled with a soft chuckle that seemed to radiate from somewhere between his throat and his chest.

"No, I suppose you weren't. It's rare for this many demons to gather in one place," he agreed. "But you'll soon find that this café is a bit special." Cello narrowed her eyes at him, scanning his face. What did he know about this place? She searched in the back of her mind, opening her clairvoyant awareness and casting it like a net over this stranger. Dark colors swirled in inky shadows, and space-time seemed to contract and squeeze into a tunnel around him.

"Wha—" the sound escaped her throat as she took an involuntary step back. Somehow, this demon was dangerous, and deeply involved in the future; she watched as the glowing future-paths in her head pulsed, reacting to his presence. One seemed particularly prominent, and Cello tried to follow it with her mind's eye. She didn't make it far before it shut her out, and she was back with the strange demon. He smiled softly at her, mistaking her exclamation for a response to his comment. As she watched, his amber gaze flicked up toward the door where Argent stood, tail lashing.

"Don't worry; I expect you're about to learn more about this place than you probably want to," he said without removing his eyes from Argent. Cello glanced over her shoulder, caught Argent's crisp glare. With a flick of his ears and a wild lash of his tail, the smoky creature beckoned her over.

"Well, I'd better not keep him waiting," Cello choked out, gestured toward Argent as she began backing away from the blue-skinned demon. He nodded.

"Of course. He is certainly one who doesn't like to be kept waiting," he purred knowingly. Cello stiffened her back as she walked away, fought against the urge to turn around and demand to know who he was. She was too rattled as it was.

_"Keep up," _Argent said gruffly as she reached him. _"And don't talk to demons like him. They're bad news." _Cello glared at the floor as she followed him through the doorway at the back of the café. It was clear that Argent and the blue-skinned stranger knew each other rather well, but she sensed not to ask about it...yet.

The moment they passed through the doorway, the musty, thick odor of ancient books accosted Cello's nose. She paused at the threshold into what could only be described as a veritable labyrinth of ceiling-high bookshelves, each piled high with ancient, cracked spines. The books were so stuffed into their shelves that many were piled atop one another, their spines forming crooked zigzags against the straight, parallel entrapments of wood that held them. Cello gawked at the sheer magnitude of the space behind the café—the building had certainly not appeared this large from the outside. She stood on tip toe to peer around the towering shelf in front of her; it seemed the shelves did not keep to straight lines, but weaved and twisted in all directions about the room. Cello couldn't even see the far wall past them.

"What _is _this place?" she murmured, half to herself. First the demon-filled café, then the dampener, and now this most _bizarre_ of bookstores—if it could even be called that. Cello sensed that none of the books kept here were actually for sale…

"It's a library of sorts...I suppose," Bifrons offered from ahead of her. "These books are mostly informational—demon myth, legend, history and heritage is contained on the pages shelved here. There's also a directory of sorts somewhere around here—sort of an ongoing account of demons and their lives. Well, and the occasional, light, fictional account a human somewhere has cracked up." He turned a corner, stopped briefly to peer back around the shelf and stab his cane into the solid floor. "Wait here, please," he said with his quiet smile before disappearing behind the stack. Cello fought the urge to frown as she stood in the looming shadows of books.

"I've brought her," Bifrons' voice floated over from the other side of the bookshelf.

"Did you tell her anything?" the new voice was male—slightly husky, with the soft twang Cello had learned to identify as a human thing. Most demons had silken or purring voices. This one also held an air of formality—something authoritative and military. Definitely someone "official."

"No—I haven't said anything. I thought it best to leave explanations to you."

"Well, that is my job." There was a taught smile in the response. It was followed by a rustle of paper, the rattled scrape of wooden chair legs against smooth wooden flooring.

_"It sounds like he's got everything settled," _Argent muttered, his tailed lashed once. _"Now all that's left is for old Bifrons to actually find that book…" _Cello raised an eyebrow, looked down at the cat.

"Argent…explain. Who's over there? And what book is Bifrons supposed to find? Is it important?" Cello knew the last question was unnecessary—if Argent was asking about it, the implication was automatically that it was a specific breed of vital importance. He never asked for the frivolous or unrequired.

"I'd prefer you referred to me as Channing," Bifrons said softly, peeking back around the bookshelf. "It's what everyone calls me up here." Cello gave him an odd stare, but nodded anyway, assumed 'up here' meant the human world. _Whatever floats his boat…_ "As for the rest, well, you're about to find out. Please—this way." With that, the red-tinged face and the dark-lensed glasses disappeared back around the shelf. With a quick, only slightly nervous glance at Argent, Cello took the few steps forward to the end of the bookshelf, turned the corner.

On the other side of the bookshelf was an area almost entirely squared off by bookshelves, rather leaving an appearance of some hidden office or study. In the center of the shelf-walled space was a little wooden table: round, made of smooth red mahogany, with five chairs pushed around it. Cello's gaze scanned the scene briefly, noted the stack of paperwork and mysterious black folder placed neatly in the middle of the table, then snapped up to zero in on the new figure.

He stood at stiff attention, hands held in front of him, left hand clasping right wrist in what Cello knew to be standard military posture. His face was pale, angular features outlined hawkishly by short black hair that seemed to blend seamlessly with his black suit. His eyes were steel grey, with a gleam that hovered somewhere between mirth and threat. In short, Cello didn't even need her clairvoyance to read the SECRET AGENT signs screaming from every angle of him.

When Cello made no move to step forward, merely stood and raked her dark gaze over him, the agent stepped forward, extended his hand.

"Agent Cooper," he introduced, a small but seemingly genuine smile more in his voice than on his face. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Cello took his hand slowly. Something in his voice definitely said he knew something she didn't—something that pertained to her, and was of some importance. Her gaze flicked briefly to Bifrons, Argent. Was this what had been discussed moments before?

"Cello," she responded absently. He laughed—the sound was full of self-assurance, and Cello narrowed her eyes. He was a man used to knowing the scoop when others didn't. She could read it in the steady sheen of his grey eyes and the serious lines of his face.

"Oh, we know who you are, miss Corvino," he said thickly, the self-assurance still present beneath his words. Cello simply removed her hand from his grip, carefully stored his use of the word 'we'. He was clearly part of a larger body…an organization of some kind. She allowed her mind to probe him, felt sharp pricks behind her eyes as her mind zoomed in on one of the golden paths. She caught a glimpse of explosions, weapons…blue lightning that sent her mind staggering backward. She took a step away, face unchanging. The path through this man was a violent one—some large confrontation loomed over that road like a thundercloud, and Cello searched in herself for another path. To her dismay, very few of the day's original options were left—all of them seemed to point toward the same storm. She gritted her teeth-she didn't like what this meeting had apparently jumpstarted...

"I understand you must be a bit confused by now," the agent pressed on. If he noticed Cello's internal crisis, he didn't seem to mind. Cello was struck by a sudden dislike of the man—she disliked most people who relished their secrets too much. Suddenly his steely gaze flashed up to catch hers. Eyebrows furrowed only the slightest bit, Cello allowed him to hold her gaze. "I'm surprised you haven't seen what I'm here for," he probed. Cello blinked. Well, he didn't waste time with tact. She glanced at Argent—since when had her talents become public information? The smoky Bajang nodded almost imperceptibly. She sighed, turned back to Cooper.

"My…awareness is far from omniscient, and further from controlled. I have barely begun to harness this ability, forgive me if I cannot read your mind as of yet." Cooper smiled at her, but it was Bifrons who suddenly spoke up.

"What did you see?" he asked, tone carefully even. Cello kept her gaze on Cooper.

"A storm," she said simply. "No matter what happens in today, my road has been set—I think it was when you began to seek me out, Agent Cooper."

"Anything more specific?" Her gaze finally flicked to Bifrons, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The dryness in his tone was mild, but there. He saw through her vague oracle approach.

"Blue lightning…or something. I don't think it was actually lightning—too watery or something. But that's the best thing I can compare it to. And a sense that I would be directly involved." Agent Cooper was nodding slowly, but a little frown puckered the skin above his eyebrows.

"I can't say that I know the event you're talking about," he confided. "It's a bit worrying—what you described sounds like a lot of trouble." He shook his head. "Well, we'll just have to be ready for it. I came here to talk to you about something very specific, and very important." Cello glanced at him warily, sank slowly into the chair he gestured to. Whatever she had seen, he didn't know of it yet. That disturbed her—whenever she got prescient images, their vagueness was frightening. She could never see the when or the where or even the how. Only the what. And she hated unknowns.

"Now," Bifrons began crisply as he took a seat across from Cello, next to Cooper who remained obstinately stiff. "We have a proposition for you." Cello's senses perked up at the brief glimmer of intent behind the words. This was the true purpose of the meeting.

"Go on." She leaned on the table. Argent leaped up to sit beside her clasped hands, tail curled elegantly around his feet.

"I'm sure you've noticed since your arrival," Cooper cued, "the demon population in New York is…exceptional." Cello quirked an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't say it's any larger than can be expected for a city this size," she said. "I mean, the human population alone is enough to draw demons here, not to mention the number of subways."

"Subways, Corvino? What do subways have to do with it?" Cello blinked at him, then shifted her gaze to Bifrons, who subtly shook his head. So Cooper—and more importantly, the group he represented—didn't know about the subway portals to the demon realm. And apparently, Bifrons wanted it kept that way.

"Never mind, Agent. All I'm saying is that the only really alarming demon population I've witnessed is the one centered in this café. There are more demons here than I've ever seen at a time before." Cooper nodded, unsurprised, but it was Bifrons who responded.

"The Pandemonium café is a sort of neutral ground for demons…and angels. No fighting, no ID. There's a dampening spell over it—demons and angels can come here and forget about conflicts and sides, if they wish. The dampening spell also turns away humans—they'll see this place as nothing more than an abandoned corner store." Cello nodded.

"I felt that spell—it's a strong one." She cast a glance around her once again. "This is a good idea—even though I don't love the idea of angels hanging out here." She made a face, and Bifrons shrugged.

"It's good for them, too. Plus, the library's here." He gestured to the bookshelves, the smile on his face suggested there was even more kept here than ancient records and myths. Cello felt the sudden itch to explore, but had to reel it in as Cooper forcefully cleared his throat.

"Anyway, the organization I represent—SHIELD—we've noticed a spike in demon and angel activity here in the city. It seems the population is growing, and the skirmishes are becoming more and more damaging."

"And?" Cello deadpanned. She didn't like where this was going.

"We followed your activities in Florence and Venice—"

"All of them?" Cello cut him off with a smirk. She knew for a fact there were things this _SHIELD _hadn't seen—things through the subways and under the cities. She secretly relished the frown on Cooper's face. She knew something he didn't, and he could tell.

"Well, most of them," he brushed on. Cello allowed herself a tiny snicker. "We liked what we saw. We'd like to enlist your assistance." Her mirth was gone. She stared at him.

"Come again?"

"Well, you represent a unique position—you're of both the human and the demon world. We'd like you to act as an extended agent of SHIELD and…_manage_…the demon population." Cello's gaze sharpened. Manage?

"Agent, to be honest, it's more that I'm of _neither_ of those worlds, really," she ignored the unavoidable hollowness of her words. Bifrons shot her a sympathetic glance.

"Cello is neither human nor fully demon," he explained. "She's been labeled a sort of limbo figure." Cooper shrugged, little affected by the information.

"All the better. You can find demons, see them, like humans can't. You can fight them—communicate with them." He leaned forward. "Be our liaison. We need your help—as of now, we have no real way to keep tabs on this population."

"You knew it was growing," Cello pointed out. Cooper quirked an eyebrow, said nothing. Cello sighed and looked to Argent, who flicked one ear.

_"We want you to do this, as well,"_ he hummed, flicking his tail toward Bifrons. She glanced at the bookkeeper.

"Bi—I mean, Channing? Why are you invested in this?" The demon shrugged.

"For the same reason as SHIELD, really, just from the other side of it. I've been noticing a lot of commotion between the angels and demons. Last week, there was a pretty serious skirmish just a street away from here. That's closer than they've ever gotten to the café, considering its neutral status." He reached up and pulled his glasses off his face, flicked garnet eyes, bisected with black slits, up to Cello. "Something's going on," he said. "Something big."  
There was a new tone of seriousness in his tone that gave Cello pause. "I can't find out what it is—even though I run a neutral site, I'm still technically a demon. I can't do anything. But you're in limbo. You can do whatever you want. Don't tell me you haven't felt the shift in the esther?" Cello sat stiff for a moment, dark gaze fierce.

"I've been here a total of two days, Channing," she retorted, then visibly deflated, rubbed one hand over her brow. He had a point-concentrating, she could feel the esther as though it were a boiling mass beneath her feet. She hadn't felt such a thing since the demon Andras reigned in Florence. With a sigh, she turned back to Cooper. "Alright, I'll help you. I'll be this…_liaison_. But I deal with the immortals on my own terms. I'll make my own judgment calls from the ground." Cooper didn't look thrilled with her demands, but he nodded. Cello pushed away from the table. The screech of chair legs seemed to trigger her impatience to leave the space. She like the café alright—she just had the sudden, fierce desire to be away from the little square meeting place.

"One more thing," Bifrons said quietly, stood from the table and walked through the space to the shelf that served as the back wall. He stooped to pull a thick, ancient leather book from the bottom corner, walked over and plopped it on the table in front of Cello.

"What's this?" she coughed, waving at the dust particles that clouded in front of her face. Bifrons gave her a serious look.

"It's a demonology book," he said. "In here is all the information you'll need on the various kinds of demons, what they can do, how they work, even their rank in Hell. If you're really going to be of help, you'll certainly need it." Cello hefted the heavy book, peered at the front cover. It was dark green leather, engraved with a mysterious looking seal. Her gaze flicked back up to Bifrons.

"Got it," she said, turned away and began walking from the room. Argent trailed at her heels. "Looks like I've got some studying to do," she muttered darkly.

**Okay, so once again, that's all, folks! A few minor changes and one major change: Coulson's replacement, Cooper. But seriously-you can't expect SHIELD to maintain a vacancy like that for very long. And Cooper, as a character, will be explained quite a bit-probably in chapter 5 (when I'm done writing it...) Anyway, hope things are picking up a bit for y'all! Try to bear with these first chapters-this will be a lot easier for everyone once the other Avengers get here! (they are taking their own sweet time, too...)**

**See ya next time~!**


	4. An Unexpected Answer

**Alrighty, everyone! Here's the next installment! I'm warning you now, this chapter adds another Avengers character-and I totally wasn't expecting it to! Honestly, this chapter totally surprised me-I think it's because I didn't just write it all at once. It sort of took its own course...and I'm still not entirely sure it works. It might be really disjointed...but I guess we'll find out! So yeah...tell me if the story is moving too slow for y'all. I know there is probably a lot that still doesn't make sense: this one's slippery! It's hard for even me to keep track of everything!**

**Anyway, more OCs (sorry) but I hope you're enjoying them! (I'm still open to the possibility of taking this down and putting it on fictionpress...)**

**Oh, and disclaimer: I don't own any Avengers characters. None. Even though they're awesome. sad face...**

**Whatever. Enjoy the chapter!**

An Unexpected Answer

"_The way to find a needle in a haystack is to sit down."  
― _Beryl Markham, _West with the Night_

The room was shrouded in thick gloom. Shadows clung to the corners, only partially scattered by the watery square of light thrown from the window onto the floor. The glow was distorted by the rivulets of rainwater cascading down the glass panes. It had rained all day, continued into the night, and the room had become clogged by the pungent, rusted-mold smell of city rain.

Cello sat at her ancient, dark cedar rolltop desk where she had shoved it up against the right corner of the window sill. The desk had belonged to her adoptive father—the late Enzo Corvino—and was one of the few things she had kept from her mafia family's hideout. Its little drawers, hovering above the flat surface, were full of various spoils of the last few months; little trinkets she'd plucked from those demons she'd been forced to fight. Cello was always surprised by how many seemingly useless things a demon kept on his person. The most recent additions had lain scattered across the desk until an impatient sweep of the arm sent them tumbling into the top drawer on the right.

Her favorite of these hung around her neck, a little bronze pendant of swirling knots she'd swiped from a black-horned demon earlier that evening. In the little space between the drawers and the surface stood a framed photograph of Cello and two others: a boy and a girl, each with coppery curls, tanned skin and sparkling blue eyes. The girl appeared older than Cello, while the boy seemed about her age. The three of them stood somewhere in the city of Florence, cobbled streets barely visible beneath their feet, a caramel-bronze building and the sinking sun behind them.

A monstrous, yellow-paged book took up the rest of the desk space and seemed to glow ominously in the blue-grey window light. It was over this that Cello poured, her entire body curved forward to peer at the ancient, miniscule text like some specter in the gloom. One hand fiddled incessantly with the little bauble around her neck as she scanned the pages for its original owner; the other waited impatiently at the edge of the page. Her dark hair was perhaps slightly more disheveled than normal, and she was dressed sloppily in a pair of black cotton shorts, a grey tank top and an overlarge, unbuttoned flannel shirt.

_"You should really consider turning the lights on,"_ Argent suggested with a whisker twitch. _"I know you can see in the dark and all, but too much of that can damage even demon eyes." _The caliginous creature was stretched elegantly across the end of her bed, against the wall perpendicular to the window; even his paws were crossed, his tail tucked around his back legs. He had managed to find space on her weapon-crowded comforter between a pair of daggers and a long, coiled chain. Since beginning her _management_ of the demon population almost seven months ago, Cello had needed to borrow a number of weapons from the mysterious stash in the basement of the Pandemonium café. Turned out that door behind the counter didn't lead to the mundane supplies she'd initially supposed. Needless to say, she never ended up returning many of the tools she borrowed.

"He's not in here," Cello murmured to herself, ignoring her companion. Said Bajang stood, stretched, and hopped down from the bed with a sigh. The chain rattled softly as his absence triggered movement from the bedsprings.

_"At least take a short break—just enough for your hour of sleep. You've been at this all night…"_ He sat at her feet and angled his silver gaze pointedly up at her. She stopped fingering her necklace, looked slowly down at him.

"Aren't you the least bit concerned?" she asked tiredly. "This guy basically confessed that he knows about something big happening in the immortal realms right now. The whole reason Channing and SHIELD have me doing this stuff is because the Esther is seriously unbalanced where the demons and angels are concerned. If Mr. Horns knows what's going on, I want to get my hands on him," she turned back to slam her hands on the book, rattling the whole desk. "But this damn book doesn't have anything remotely helpful! I thought Channing said this thing had all demons in it?!"

_"If he's not in there, he's something new,"_ Argent hummed simply, leaped up to her lap and stepped onto the desk to sit on the open book. Cello leaned back in her chair, exasperated. _"You haven't found him after hours of looking. You really think you're going to miraculously stumble across something useful now that you're exhausted?" _

"Demons don't get exhausted," Cello snapped, rubbed her hands over her face.

_"You're not really a demon though, are you," _Argent reminded patiently. Cello sighed and shot him a thoughtful look as he jumped back down to the floor. The Bajang had been unusually supportive and helpful of late—sometimes he even seemed genuinely concerned. Somehow, that made her nervous, as though he might know something she didn't.

"Alright, Argent," she breathed at last. With a deep sigh through her nose, she slammed the book shut, paused to run her fingers over the symbol on the front: a larger version of what hung around her neck. One hand clamped over the little token; not for the first time, she wondered at the seal—what it meant, and why the black horned demon had been wearing it. _I bet Channing knows…_

She ambled over to the bed, began to toss weapons to the floor as she peered over at the digital clock on the nightstand. _5:30 AM _glowed satanically through the rainy, predawn gloom. At last she sat on the bed, fell back dramatically to stare at the ceiling. "I can't seem to get myself out of hyper drive," she confided. "The Esther's _issues_ aside, my dream visions are getting worse. Every night it's either blue lightning or weird images from the immortal realms. Plus this prickling feeling…something is definitely wrong out there." By the end her voice was shaking. She hadn't realized until then how much her awareness of the coming conflicts weighed on her.

_"For now, get some rest," _Argent recommended as he padded up to sit near her head and gaze down at her. _"You'll be surprised how much just an hour will help. In the morning we'll talk to Bifrons—"_

"Channing," she corrected cheekily.

_"Fine—we'll talk to _Channing_ in the morning. He might have some tips. Then I think we should find this…Mr. _Horns…_again. Perhaps it's not too late for him to provide information. Is this plan acceptable?" _Cello met his silver gaze, smiled softly.

"You know, Argent," she noticed suddenly that he didn't even react to the nickname—that he hadn't all night, or indeed, all week. "You're definitely going soft." He flicked her with the tip of his tail and stalked off the bed without responding. Cello chuckled once—a thick, dry sound that got stuck in her throat on the way out. As she rose and repositioned herself for sleep, she wondered what was happening to her.

The past few months, she'd felt herself harden under the constant pressure of her clairvoyant awareness; become edgier as she confronted demons and angels day after day. Her system was toughening up in preparation for whatever was coming—a natural response to the constant warnings, both external and internal. _Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get some real rest for an hour…_but she knew even as her eyes drooped closed that this hour of sleep would be no different from the last. Her heart gave a nervous thump as her breathing slowed and she was thrown into swirling explosions and blue lightning.

~X~

An hour later, Cello lay in a tangle of sheets and stared at the ceiling. She still reeled from clawing her way to wakefulness, shocked by the degree of effort it had taken to pull her mind from the prescient dreams. Yet despite their magnetic pull and overwhelming presence, the dreams remained frustratingly out of conscious reach; she could recall little more than the same blue lightning and explosions of her earlier dreams…with one bizarre addition: a purring voice. She couldn't remember what it said, but she remembered hearing it pervade whatever violent scene had played in her mind's eye.

With a ragged grumble, she sat up and was caught in the glare of midmorning sun that streamed from her window. She clapped both hands over her eyes with a muffled growl and hurriedly slid off the other side of the bed to amble into the shadowed half of the room. There was nothing worse than being blinded while your eyes were still asleep. She stood blinking in the shade for a moment while the spots left her vision, then glared at the window. How was it already this bright out? It was always so gloomy when she woke up…her shoulders sagged as she recalled the night before. She'd researched for so long—with no results, by the way—that her normal sleep hour had been invariably pushed back from around 3 to more like 7. She edged closer to the light in order to peer at her alarm clock. Yup, 7:45. That would explain the sun.

_"Feeling better?"_ Cello turned groggily to where Argent stood at her ankles. She offered a thick "hmm," pulled her flannel shirt off the back of her desk chair, and padded over to the kitchenette to begin clumsily making coffee. The caffeine was always neutralized in her system, but she supposed it was the thought that counted. Anyway, the mundane pattern of brewing the rich-smelling liquid was calming and helped her think.

"When should we go see Channing?" she asked as the percolator began to rattle and fizz. Argent raised one fur-covered eyebrow. Cello stared—it was a very odd expression to see on a cat.

_"Perhaps in an hour or so," _he suggested. _"He's…got his hands full at the moment."_ Cello turned from the counter with a frown on her face, wrapped her flannel shirt closer to her figure and crossed her arms.

"Angel or demon?" she asked simply. Argent met her gaze evenly.

"_Angel this time_," he said, voice carefully held at neutral. Cello narrowed her eyes.

"Which angel?" her voice was taught and stiff. Argent flicked his ears.

"_It doesn't matter," _he dismissed. _"We should just let Bifrons take care of it."_ Cello felt images push from behind her eyes—silver and blue wings fluttered, a childlike face contorted with a sneer, and the choking sensation of anger and betrayal was almost overwhelming. The flashes were combined memory and clairvoyance; she knew exactly which angel Channing was dealing with.

"It's Michael, isn't it." It wasn't a question. Argent flicked his tail in irritation.

_"Yes, it's Michael. But there's no reason for you to get all worked up about it—you've got other things to deal with right now," _he reminder her gruffly. For a moment, Cello was ready to march down to the Pandemonium and confront Michael then and there—preferably rip off his pristine wings and drag them through the mud. But Argent was right; she couldn't afford to add him to her list of confrontations, today. After a tense staring match with the door, she deflated with a heavy sigh, walked over to plop down in front of her desk.

She traced her fingers over the seal on her Demonology once more, thinking. The last time she had seen the archangel, he'd been flying away from her cries for help. Her jaw clenched at the painful memory. Her best friend Nicolas, his sister Natalie…her adoptive parents…everyone she loved had been killed by the demon Andras. She had begged and pleaded for Michael's help—weren't angels supposed to help fight demons and save humans? But he had laughed, voice small and delicate like a child's, and flown away. So Cello had been forced to seek retribution with the help of Argent, and lost her human half in the process. She blinked away tears, reached for the photograph on her desk. In it, Nicolas and Natalie were smiling with her, coppery hair caught in the setting sun. She ran her fingers over the glass. When was the last time she had smiled like that? _Probably in this photo,_ she thought sadly.

She carefully put the picture back, gazed at it one moment longer, then clapped her hands together as though to snap herself from her bitter reverie. "Well, it looks like I've got an hour to kill," she said simply and stood, her chair legs scraping across the floor. She crossed the room to her dresser quickly, threw on a long, loose midnight-blue shirt with a pair of dark jean shorts. She shoved her feet into her boots—didn't bother lacing them—and went about gathering her keys, wallet and her jacket before marching toward the door. She stuffed the loose items into her jacket pockets.

Argent watched her with a knowing glint in his silver eyes.

_"Keep an eye out," _he warned her quietly. She glanced back at him with a toothy grin.

"Don't I always?" with that, she threw her jacket over one shoulder and walked out the door. Argent sighed and padded over to spring onto her desk. He flicked his tail over the photograph.

_"Hard to believe it's only been a year," _he murmured thoughtfully. He wondered how long it would take for the raven-haired girl to recover that smile, then snorted impatiently at himself. _"Going soft, indeed," _he muttered grouchily. _"I've spent too much time around humans." _He sprang onto the windowsill. The window, itself, was flung wide open, leaving him a convenient exit. Just before springing down onto the fire escape, however, he cast one more sharp gaze toward the closed door. He knew exactly where she was going. _"I just hope she remembered to bring a knife." _He sprang out the window.

~X~

Cello strode casually down the street, hands stuffed into her pockets. These days, she found herself at home in the masses that clogged New York's sidewalks, rejoicing in the comfort of anonymity the swarms provided. She had learned, over the past months, how to navigate the crowds and weave between the bustling pedestrians. More important, she had learned how to identify the demons that hid in the crowds—she had become able to almost _feel _the city's demon population, as though it crawled beneath her skin. Her gaze flicked to a lizard-faced girl that swam across the street. She had been surprised to find how legitimate SHIELD's concerns really were: New York was positively overflowing with demons. It was a veritable petri dish of immortals—angels, too. Even now she caught glimpses of blue-tipped feathers on the arms and necks of passersby. And every day, she could feel their numbers growing.

Cello turned a sharp left into an alley between two towering buildings, headed all the way down to the looming, concrete wall at the other end. With a quick glance behind her to check for followers, she ducked to the side, where a small patch of the wall shimmered slightly. With a wave of her hand over it, the square dissolved slowly, and she ducked into the hole that remained. Cello had also discovered that the Pandemonium Café was far from the only demon hangout in the city. There were a handful of theaters, bars, clubs and the like that were demon-run and outside the human radar. She walked down a set of narrow, crooked stairs to an iron door. Above it, _Inferno_ glowed in neon red letters. Cello smiled softly and walked up to the bouncer. He was a huge fellow—glamored as a ripped, bald-headed man with midnight skin and beady eyes. Cello narrowed her gaze at him, saw past the thin, outer layer to the giant centaur beneath.

"Hey, Geryon," she greeted him, voice chipper and sharp against the bass bleeding from inside the bar. He stared down at her with fiery eyes—he stood perhaps two feet taller than her.

"Cello," he nodded acknowledgement. The half-demon had discovered this particular bar following the trail of a rather slippery Dreameater—nasty buggers with dark, slimy skin and too many eyes. There'd been a showdown that ended with Cello standing in the middle of the bar holding a knife and covered in demon blood. Yet, in a demonic social play that Cello suspected she would never fully understand, the bar had welcomed her. _"Demons kill demons all the time," _Argent had explained. _"It's important they understand that you're capable."_

Since then, she had returned often—whenever she wanted to get away from Channing, Argent and all their nonsense. She'd made quite a few friends in the bar, and the demons there had gained a healthy respect for her abilities.

"How's the crowd tonight?" she asked casually, hands still in her pockets. Geryon shrugged, raised his gaze back to the stairway as the sound of heavy footsteps drifted down to them.

"Fair—perhaps a bit rowdier than usual." His gaze flicked to her once more, back to the stairs. "They're a little riled by news of our visitor." Cello quirked an eyebrow.

"Visitor?" her voice was laden with suspicion. She had a sinking feeling she knew who he was talking about. "This wouldn't be a baby-faced aragonite by any chance?" she used the demonic term for an angel—a word that synonymous with fool's gold, or brimstone. Majority of the demon population believed the angel's to be like the mysterious mineral: glittering with false worth. Geryon nodded, distracted by the shadow descending down the far wall.

"Yes—Michael has them significantly riled. But there are rumors of another visitor, tonight," he rumbled. Suddenly, Cello felt the hairs on her arms raise. There was something ominous in the words.

"Who?" she pressed, tried not to sound too nervous. Geryon nodded pointedly at someone behind her. Cello turned slowly, her eyes landed on a slim, dark figure with red hair and icy eyes.

"A human," Geryon said, just as the thought registered in Cello's mind. The red-head was certainly human—she gave off the unmistakable, rather earthy smell of humans. Cello narrowed her eyes. There was something different about this human, something hidden just beneath the surface that gave Cello the impression that the young woman belonged in the demon world as much as herself. She turned, squared off against the newcomer.

"Are you so sure you want to be down here?" she asked softly. The ice blue eyes snapped into focus. Cello fought not to step back. Those eyes glowed with purpose and intent, and a light fire in the back of Cello's mind warned her that this human new exactly where she was, and what she was doing. Cello also had a feeling that should she confront this particular human, even her demonic abilities would leave her at a disadvantage.

"I think I'm in the right place," the blue eyes flicked up to the neon sign above the door, then back to Cello. They scanned her figure once before returning to her eyes with a haughty glint. Cello frowned, turned questioningly to Geryon.

"She's clear," the centaur said simply, voice the slightest bit confused. He was endowed with a specific brand of the clairvoyance Cello herself possessed. She didn't understand the ins and outs of his ability, but she knew it told him who to let in to the bar, and who to keep out. If he thought this girl was clear, she was some kind of special human.

"Alright, then." Cello shrugged, trying to affect a nonchalance she didn't feel. She turned her own dark gaze to meet the red-head's ice. "Drinks on me for a story," she suggested. A glint in her gaze and a sardonic half-smile made it very clear which story she wanted. The girl returned the grin, shrugged.

"Fine—but no powder," she joked wryly, referencing the mysterious purple substance demons sometimes put in their drinks. For them, it was like a light drug—it would kill a human in seconds. Cello chuckled once, walked past Geryon into the bar.

"Don't worry-I don't go near that stuff. Cello, by the way," she said as she stepped into the reddish glow of the bar. The human behind her hummed.

"I'm not surprised," she said, lips tightened into a small smirk. Once again, Cello was overcome by a sense that this girl was changing things; she could almost feel the future paths in her head shift, become blurred. She had not foreseen this meeting—had, in fact, no inkling that she would find a human in the Inferno, tonight, let alone one who had apparently heard of her.

"Care to return the favor?" Cello asked bluntly when it appeared the human would not offer her own name. She winced at the tautness of her voice, took a seat at the bar. The human chuckled, sat on the stool beside her and perused the drink menu. Finally, she picked a drink, glanced at Cello and pointed it out. Cello sighed, ordered the human's _Twisted Serpent_ and a _Red Redemption_ for herself from the little water demon behind the counter, convinced she wasn't going to get an answer.

"Natasha," the human said at last. Cello quirked an eyebrow. Natasha offered her hand with a chilling smile. "Natasha Romanoff."

**Plot twist! Well, at least to me-I didn't see that coming till it was typed on my page! Damn, Natasha-you just couldn't wait, could you? Anyway, you should be warned: in the coming chapters, there will be things about Natasha's past that may or may not fit with other hints we've been given. I'll try to make it work, but...hell, I don't even claim control of this thing, anymore. It's not going in the direction I had planned, at all. I guess I'll just have to see what happens along with the rest of you! As always, reviews are very welcome, but more than that, please keep reading! Just the rising number of views makes me happy. Thanks to all you readers!**

**~S.S**


	5. The Present Future

**Okay, so here's chapter 5! I know-it's a _really _long chapter. I just couldn't seem to end it until it ended by itself. If it is really tedious to read, I can probably divide it into two chapters when it switches from SHIELD to the bar...just let me know if that's what you guys want. Also, exciting news: The Avengers characters are all finally showing up! Quite a few are in this chapter-though the only major one in Banner. Let me know if they're too OOC for y'all-I tried to portray them accurately, but you know...they aren't mine, so I don't know them all that well. **

**Oh, and thanks to my latest reviewer, SweetHarmonee! She gave me a tip that my use of italics can be a bit confusing, so here's a key (sort of...):**

Regular type is...well, regular type.

_"Italics in quotes are demon speak. Right now, the only one this is for is Argent. I'm not sure if someone else will speak like this later, or not. It implies a sort of telepathy..."_

_Italics _not _in quotes are used for dream sequences, thoughts, and for emphasis (unless the emphasized word is part of a italicized sentence, in which case it will be in _regular_ type. Like that._

**Hope that helps some! And yeah-let me know about the OOC-ness and the chapter length!**

**Enjoy!**

The Present Future

"_When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?"_

Chuck Palahniuk_, Invisible Monsters_

SHIELD headquarters were bustling. Or rather, they were business as usual—which inevitably involves bustling. The crisp, iron-lined command center was packed with leather-clad bodies, all scurrying about, shouting reports to one another, fiddling with the complicated machinery scattered throughout the space. One gadget in particular seemed to command the most attention; agents and lab workers positively swarmed around a large, flat screen that towered toward the room's high ceiling. At its base, a dark-haired man with thick glasses sat at an impressively complicated control panel, eyes squinted from too many hours at work. The screen itself was a jumble of color, rather resembling a poorly tie-dyed shirt. At the center, a large, crimson cloud pulsed erratically. It was this aspect of the device that had people crowding around the thing, eyes glued to the ominous haze.

Director Fury stood away from the frenzy, preferring to look down on it from the catwalk above the room. His hands were held rigidly behind his back, right hand clasping left wrist, his mouth set in a hard line that made his face appear worn and drawn. His one eye glowed, fierce and dark, from beneath a heavily furrowed brow. Every line of his person seemed stretched taught, as though a sudden noise might shatter him.

Director Fury was worried.

"Sir?" a voice drifted through the din from behind Fury. He turned, face unchanging, to regard Agent Maria Hill. At his nod, she walked forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, mirrored his pose. She looked down at the large screen, face carefully blank. "What's going on, sir?" Fury turned to look down, once more, and heaved a quiet sigh.

"I don't know," he admitted. Hill turned to cast a probing stare over him.

"With all due respect, sir, you must know more than you're telling. And honestly, I think some of us deserve some answers." She nodded toward where Agent Coulson's replacement, Agent Samuel Cooper, leaned over the control panel, hands clenched, as though desperately trying to make sense of the numbers there. Fury's eyes narrowed at the young man and Maria's gaze softened. "You have to admit—he's done exceedingly well, considering the nature of his promotion," she soothed. Fury sighed.

"Yes—he's an excellent agent on all counts." His voice was drier than usual, stiff. Maria Hill didn't bother questioning it, merely remained pointedly silent until he glanced over at her. "Answers, then," he conceded, turned back. "There aren't many of those to give, right now. We know something's wrong—but any fool can see that by looking at the screen." Maria followed his gesture, eyes drawn to the cloud of pulsing crimson once again.

"So…what is that, sir?" she asked at last. "The screen. What's it showing us?"

"Even I don't fully understand the details. We've had Dr. Banner and Ms. Foster building that thing since last October—you'd have to ask them about the full functions. All I care about is that it's monitoring the subways…and finding something I don't like." Hill frowned.

"Subways, sir?" He offered a sardonic smile.

"Back in May—about half a year ago—Agent Cooper had a little talk with Cello Corvino," he began.

"Your demon contact?" Hill's frown deepened. She had never really liked SHIELD's relationship with the demons in the city; she had been far from thrilled when she heard of Cooper's mission to contact the mysterious half-demon, Cello Corvino. Maria Hill knew first hand that you could never trust things like demons or aliens…or gods…she glanced again to where Cooper had begun talking stiffly with Banner at the control panel. She stifled the flare of pain that always accompanied her mental image of Agent Coulson. Despite her tough exterior, Hill desperately missed her senior agent, and his loss had forever tainted her perception of the supernatural.

"In the process of giving us the run around, she gave us an interesting tip," Fury continued, oblivious to his agent's internal distress—or perhaps simply ignoring it. "She said something about the number of subways in New York as a direct link to the demon population." Hill nodded, understanding.

"So we've looked into all the subways…and found something?" she prompted. Fury nodded and turned away from the catwalk railing to walk back down the stairs.

"Oh, we've found something. The question is, what have we found?" As he spoke, he crossed the room to stand near Banner. The scientist swiveled around in his chair, pulled the wire-rim glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"Well I can see why you brought me here," he said in his thick, quiet voice. He gestured to the screen with his folded glasses. "This is some mass of energy we've got. You see all these green and yellow patches? Those are demon hotspots."

"But they're all over the city!" Hill pointed out. Banner threw her a look.

"Exactly. And these," he pointed to the small blue circles of blue that speckled the screen, "are Jane's project," he swiveled to look over at Jane Foster. The small, mousy girl was bent nearly double over a smaller computer screen, scribbling things in a notebook. At the sound of her name, she looked up, saw Banner, Hill and Fury looking at her expectantly. She cleared her throat and walked over to the screen.

"Well, the blue spots are wormholes," she explained simply.

"Wormholes? You mean like what the cube triggered?" Fury asked. Jane nodded, folded her hands together and sat in an empty chair next to Banner.

"Pretty much, sir. It's really pretty amazing. I won't bore you with the physics of it, but it's basically a warp, or buckle, in space-time. It creates a tunneling effect that connects two places or times. The Asgaardians use one they call the Bifrost—but these are a little different. The Bifrost turns on and off, so to speak, and it can move. After all, it's not as though Asgaard is connected only to Earth." She paused, eyes suddenly sad. Hill fought the urge to roll her eyes—it was clear the girl was thinking of her lover, the thunder god Thor, who was currently the ruling figure on Asgaard.

"Please continue, Ms. Foster," Fury cut in drily. Over the months she had been working at SHIELD, he had steadily lost patience with Jane's somewhat flighty nature. The astrophysicist cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Well, these are certainly stationary, and there are a lot of them—one in almost every subway," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. She sighed, looked Fury squarely in the eye. "They…well, they all seem to lead to one place, sir," she said softly. Fury blinked once.

"And where, is that?"

"Well, I think we would usually describe it as…Hell." Banner interjected in his awkwardly straightforward way. For a moment, Fury, his agents, and the scientists were silent, each absorbing the absurdity of the situation.

"I suppose it's not so surprising," Cooper finally said. "After all, we discovered that the Norse myths were true…why not other religious beliefs?" his voice was just slightly shaky—none of them liked the idea of Hell being real, whether or not it lived up to religious expectations. Finally, after a moment of staring at the ground and thoughtfully nodding his head, Fury stared up at the screen.

"What's the red?" he asked. Everyone whipped back toward the screen. In the face of subways to Hell, they had forgotten about the red screaming across the virtual city...or perhaps they had merely suppressed it. No one was sure they could take much more from the screen. Hill took a minute step backwards—suddenly, she wasn't sure she even wanted to know what it meant. The feeling intensified when she saw the tense, worried glance shared by Jane and Banner.

"It's a sort of energy," Banner explained. "It's coming from sort of…the middle of the warp. It's like this…_presence_…has spread itself through all the active subways. We think it's coming up, toward the surface." He ran a hand through his hair, looked at the ground with his eyebrows raised. "From what we can tell, it's been making pretty steady progress all year."

"Am I the only one confused as to why we're just figuring this out now?" Fury drawled rhetorically. "What is it?" his voice had become crisp with urgency.

"We don't know yet," Banner confessed. He locked eyes with Fury. "Whatever it is, I don't think we want it to get here." Fury nodded once, began to stride back through the thinning crowd of agents, Cooper and Hill in his wake. With a swish of his long, black coat, he stepped through the doorway into the hall. Cooper and Hill followed him silently into his personal office at the end of the stark corridor. Once inside, the little group slammed the door and gathered around the rounded glass table in the center of the room. With a sigh, Fury sank into one of the wheeled, black chairs, rested his bald head in one hand. Maria sat, as well, leaned her elbows on the glass table surface just as Jane and Banner slipped into the room.

"Well, we know what it is. Now we just need to figure out how to stop it…" Cooper started.

"We _can't_ stop this thing," Jane spoke up quickly. She stood toward the wall, arms crossed over her chest. "The energy has gotten too close to the surface; if we interfere now, it could cause…irreparable damage." She shrugged her shoulders, eyes on the floor, as though she couldn't say—and didn't want to imagine—how extensive such carnage might be. Fury turned to her slowly.

"So we've got to fight it," Cooper murmured and put his forefinger and thumb to his chin.

"How can we? We aren't even sure what 'it' really is," Banner argued. Hill glanced at him.

"We didn't know much more when Loki attacked," she offered. Banner shook his head.

"At least then we knew about the cube—we'd been studying it! We had Thor, he knew about Loki. With this…what do we even have to work with?" He turned back to Fury. "Whoever you send in to fight won't go in as a soldier—they'll go in as a sacrifice." Hill recoiled, blinked slowly as she imagined agent Coulson again. She didn't want to face the idea of losing any more agents…

"I know at least one man who stays a soldier no matter the circumstance," Fury said suggestively. Banner threw him a sharp look. "And who better than a god to fight demons?"

"You want to call in the Avengers?" Hill interjected flatly. She couldn't deny the force of superheroes was their best bet. The problem was getting them all back to New York. Fury nodded.

"Situations like these are why the Avengers Initiative was conceived." He turned to the rest of the table. "My friends, we have a demon rising up to New York from Hell. We don't know what he's bringing with him—we don't know what he wants. But we have got to prepare for the worst. That means bringing our A game." He stood, planted both hands firmly on the table and raked his gaze around the room. Grim, determined faces stared back…except for Jane. She clapped once, an elated smile on her face.

"Does that mean we're calling Thor?" she asked excitedly. She was met by a collective groan.

"Yes, Ms. Foster. In fact, I will leave that task to you—after all, you're the most fluent in dealing with the Bifrost and communications with Asgaard, nowadays," Fury said in a longsuffering tone. Then he turned to Maria. "Agent Hill, you go find the Captain—I think he stayed fairly close by. Check his monitor." She nodded. He turned to Banner and Cooper where they stood on the other side of the room. "Banner, you get Stark—he should be back at his house in California. I know you've been there. And Agent Cooper, I leave Hawkeye, Romanoff and Cello to you." Cooper nodded, but Hill sniffed disdainfully.

"We're still bringing in Corvino?" she couldn't filter the dislike from her voice. For some reason, she simply disliked the idea of a half-demon working with them to fight other demons. To her, it seemed like asking for betrayal. Fury nodded, turned to Banner.

"You said last time we had Thor—someone in the know, from the inside. Well, this time we have Cello." Banner shot him a confused look.

"Who's Cello?" he asked. Maria looked to Fury in surprise. He hadn't told anyone else about the Corvino girl? She saw a small, grim smile stretch Fury's lips.

"You'll find out soon enough."

~X~

Cello drained the last of the pungent, ruby mixture from her glass and slammed the delicate thing back onto the bar. She could feel a pleasant buzz through her system and relished it for a moment before turning to the red-haired human beside her. Natasha held her own glass elegantly in one hand and swirled its vibrant green contents so they caught the dim, red bar light. After a moment, her ice blue eyes flicked over to Cello, sensing the other girl's gaze. Cello huffed through her nose and spun her stool around to fully face her companion.

"So," she began. "You promised me a story." A small smile lifted the corner of Natasha's mouth. She set her drink onto the counter, turned her stool so she sat knee to knee with Cello.

"There's not a whole lot to tell," she said. Cello cast her a disbelieving look.

"You mean there's not much you're willing to tell," she corrected, then shrugged. "That's alright—I know how that can be. I don't need the gory details, just an explanation. I mean, how many other humans do you see in this bar?" Natasha looked around, peered into the smoky red gloom and blinked back to Cello with an unsettled expression.

"To be honest…I can't tell. All of you look human enough to me." She said. Cello scanned the room—demons of all shapes and sizes crowded the space. She turned back to Natasha, and a particularly large, ram-headed demon caught her gaze.

"That's probably for the best. Anyway, the answer is none. You are probably the only full-blood human that has ever sat at this bar." Natasha shrugged.

"Alright—an explanation it is. Where should I start…?"

"How about at the beginning?" Cello drawled. Natasha chuckled once.

"Well, that might be a little much. I think I'll settle for the middle." She picked up her drink, took a sip, starting swirling it again. "I was on my own for a long time. In the streets of Russia…well, being alone isn't always the best way to go. There aren't many options: either make some friends, or tough it out alone and probably die. But…well, I'm not the most socially adept person in the world, so I had to go it alone. The best way to survive that way was to make a name for myself.

"I had a very specific skill set—didn't care who hired it out. Or who suffered from it." She paused to throw Cello a sardonic smile. The dark-haired girl was leaning forward, a hungry expression on her face. She could feel Natasha's words like puzzle pieces in her head—they all fell into place, as though Cello had heard them before. _She's going to be very important,_ Cello noted as Natasha gathered her words. As she waited, Cello saw a series of dark figures appear over several of the paths in her head. One of them was being filled in by Natasha's story. _But who are the others? Are they with Natasha…or do I meet them later? _

"One particular client had a bigger problem than most." Natasha resumed. Her tone carried a new weight, and Cello could see that Natasha was no longer sitting in the bar—was somewhere else, entirely, in that moment. "Most of the people who hired…well, they wanted me to settle old grudges, clear out competition, _convince _reluctant sponsors, that sort of thing. Not this guy. He had real trouble—the demonic kind." She glanced back at Cello, her face closed. Cello saw the figures in her head fade and swallowed her disappointment: Natasha's tale was drawing to a close, and there were still so many gaps in the figure... "So I did what he hired me for—I took out the demon. There were a couple more cases like that afterwards…I suppose I became a bit known in the demon community. The human that hunted demons" She laughed humorlessly, drained her glass. "That's about all there is to it."

Cello nodded slowly, eyes steady. She knew as well as Natasha that wasn't all there was…but she didn't want to push the human. She understood too well the toll of reliving history.

"Well, that makes sense," she said cheerily. "Demons have some sort of strange code they go by—the more of them you kill, the more they accept you. Well, as long as you only kill the unloved ones," she finished with a wicked laugh. Natasha frowned and Cello shrugged. "I don't really get it myself, but a friend explained it to me like this: demons kill demons all the time. They won't respect you unless you can hold your own—I guess that extends to humans."

"There just aren't many of us up to the challenge." Natasha boasted. Cello rolled her eyes.

"Or that many who even know demons exist," she pointed out. Natasha shrugged.

"Details." She held out her empty glass. "Up for round two?" she asked. Cello smiled.

"Always. But I think this time I'll try the _Screaming Banshee._ It sounds pretty good—and I really like rum."

"Too sweet," Natasha shook her head, pursed her lips and peered at the menu. Cello pointed out where her _Red Redemption_ sat on the page.

"Try this one," she recommended. "I just had it, and it's actually really tart, in a refreshing sort of way. Think strawberries and lemon plus carbonated vodka." Natasha nodded, and called the little water demon back over.

"We'll take these two, please," she said, pointing. The demon nodded and reached for the bill Cello held out to him. Before he could take it, however, another hand shot out in front of Cello's, this one blue-tinged. Cello's heart skipped unpleasantly.

"Those are on me," a smooth voice purred. "And add a _Lemon Purgatory_, too." Cello turned slowly, a scowl already formed on her face. She knew who it was before she saw the sculpted blue face and fiery hair.

"Xaphan," she greeted coolly. "How unusual to see you here." Since their first encounter at the Pandemonium, Cello had run into the fire demon several times. "I seem to recall you saying you didn't like the bar crowd." He shrugged, an uncharacteristically playful half-smile on his face.

"It's a special night," he quipped cryptically. "And I thought I told you to call me Sal." Cello rolled her eyes and didn't bother responding.

"Who is this?" Natasha asked suspiciously as the bar tender slid her vibrant, red drink across the counter. Cello sighed.

"Natasha, Xaphan; Xaphan, Natasha," she introduced lazily. The fire demon's eyes lit up with interest, and he leaned toward Natasha.

"A human, eh? Very interesting…we don't get many of those around here." He purred. Natasha had the good sense to lean back on her stool.

"She's exceptional," Cello nearly growled. How was it this Salamander always managed to get under her skin? Xaphan leaned back with a knowing expression.

"Clearly." He spun on his stool to receive his drink. Natasha leaned forward to speak into Cello's ear.

"How do you know him, exactly?" she murmured. Xaphan turned back to them with a smile.

"Oh, Cello and I go _way_ back," he answered. Cello narrowed her eyes.

"We don't," she corrected coldly. "I ran into Xaphan here a couple months ago. He's been…helpful, on occasion." Xaphan feigned hurt.

"You wound me," he gasped. "You can't have forgotten our first meeting!" He turned dramatically to Natasha, who all but recoiled. "I was with Cello when she was first dragged into this whole demon-liaison business." He said confidentially. "You could say I helped her through the transition—" Cello whacked him across the head, causing a surprised spark of fire from his mouth as it snapped closed. She eyed him, incredulous. She had never known him to act this…clowning. Normally, he stuck to a very cryptic routine.

"First off, there was no 'help' during the 'transition'—as I recall, I was very firmly in control of the situation. Secondly, that doesn't count as a 'meeting'. I didn't even know what you were. Or your name, for that matter." Xaphan straightened, his face suddenly calm and rather serious.

"But I knew who _you_ were," he said. Cello searched his face for mockery. To her disappointment, she found none. _Looks like cryptic Xaphan's back…_ she thought peevishly. She looked down into her silvery _Screaming Banshee_ with a sigh.

"Why am I not surprised?" she muttered. Natasha threw her a questioning glance, which Cello awkwardly ignored. With Xaphan sitting right there, she wasn't in the mood to answer questions. The redhead proceeded to stare into her drink, brow furrowed in thought. After a moment of quiet—well, as quiet as a bar ever really got when it was full of demons—a shift from Xaphan drew Cello's attention. She glanced over, saw him take a measured gulp of his rather luminous yellow drink before looking back to Cello. She frowned at the seriousness that glimmered in his gaze.

"What?" she asked not sure she actually wanted to know.

"Something's happening," he said darkly. Behind her, Natasha leaned forward.

"Something's been happening for the past year," Cello tried to scoff, but it came off nervous, resulting in an even deeper scowl of embarrassment. Xaphan shook his head.

"Nothing has happened, yet. It's been building up all year—since before that, really. The actual event is going to start soon." He offered a rather sad smile that Cello didn't feel like puzzling through. His words were setting off so many alarms in her head she was surprised she could even hear them. The paths in her head began pulsing, and she felt suddenly as though she was zooming through them. The future was suddenly moving too fast…the storm at the end of the golden paths was suddenly right in front of her. The future wasn't the future any more—it had bled into the present, and Cello was left reeling.

"What event?" she gasped.

"Even I can't tell you that," Xaphan confessed, and Cello thought she heard a hint of bitterness in his voice. "But you should get ready for something big…and steel yourself for some unsavory things." He grimaced. "It will probably be here by Christmas." Cello blinked.

"It's already November!" she exclaimed. Xaphan shrugged.

"I did what I could," he said, but Cello didn't want an apology from him. She wanted answers—a lot of them, right then and there.

"Alright, that's it," she growled and furiously tossed back her drink. She appreciated the burn. "I'm going to the Pandemonium—Channing has to know something." She headed for the door, hardly registering that Natasha and Xaphan were both following her.

The night air was a refreshing slap in the face. A frigid wind brought tears to her eyes, but Cello was still wrapped in the burn of her drink and her urgency. She looked up into the sky found that none of the stars were visible past a purple-grey filter of clouds. It was going to snow.

"Miss Corvino?" Cello whipped her head back down and her gaze locked on Cooper standing at the bottom of the stairs. "What are you doing here?" Cello gawked.

"Me? What about you?!" She looked to Geryon, who still stood by the door. He shrugged.

"He can't go in," he rumbled. "I was about to send for her." He gestured to Natasha, who was already walking over to Cooper.

"What's going on?" she murmured to him.

"You two know each other?" Cello asked, incredulous. Xaphan leaned down to her.

"Is it just me, or are you out of the loop?" he prodded. Cello glared at him.

"Not as much as you," she snapped. "Natasha, Agent Cooper…would one of you please explain what's going on?" her voice was quiet—the type of quiet before a hurricane.

"It's actually quite convenient to have found you both at the same place," Cooper started, steely eyes shifting nervously to Xaphan. "We seem to have found…something. It's big."

"Told you so," Xaphan whispered. Cello swatted at him without taking her eyes from Cooper.

"What?" he sighed uncomfortably.

"I can't tell you right now." Cello growled. Why was everyone giving her the same infuriating answer? "I need you and Agent Romanoff to please come back to SHIELD so we can rendezvous with the others." Cello gawked at Natasha.

"Agent?" she repeated. "Thanks for the heads up." She turned back to Cooper. "Sorry to override your orders, but _I _am going to the Pandemonium Café, and if you want any real answers, you'll come with me." After a flustered moment of thought, Cooper nodded unhappily and pulled out a radio. As he spoke into it, Cello marched up the stairs and out into the alley. Her head was spinning, the paths were moving so fast. Oh yes, something big was happening. Cello bit her lip—this thing was bigger than any of them had imagined. The others clambered out of the wall behind her, and Cello stalked down the alley, joined the mass of humans on the street. It was so odd; no matter how much chaos Cello could feel in her head, New York remained the same, merrily bustling city. _It's calming, _she thought just as she felt a wet drop on her nose. She looked up. It was snowing.

**Well, that was a doosy! Haha. Hope you guys were able to follow the whole thing...and that it wasn't tedious or boring. I tried to put some good stuff in here-a balance of information, fun and humor, if you will. Hope it all came out in the wash! Or didn't...I never really did understand that phrase.**

**Anyway, see you next time! Look forward to more info, lots of potential danger, and the other Avengers!**


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